


Love Me Like You Do

by QuietHurricane



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Romance, growing together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-04-14 23:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietHurricane/pseuds/QuietHurricane
Summary: What if 2x10 ended differently?Or, Tasha and Reade decide to take a leap. This story follows their relationship and how it could've grown after their kiss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been bouncing around my head for a while. I'm looking forward to exploring more of the what-ifs in this story :)

It’s been a rough few days. A rough few months, she thinks bitterly. She chuckles. Reade would definitely say “rough” is an understatement. For once, she wouldn’t argue over his fondness for semantics. Ever since they found Jane naked in Times Square, the team has been to hell and back. Or, more accurately, in a hellish purgatory they couldn’t escape--still can’t escape. Yes, she enjoys the thrill and she misses the tattoo cases when they aren’t there, but it’s because of the people she works with and what they can accomplish together. It’s more meaningful than a random counterfeiting lead. The near death stuff, though, that she could definitely do without. Especially when it has to do with Reade.

 

“You should put your leg up,” she says, moving easily around the apartment she’s so familiar with. She’s antsy, and he can see that.

 

“You need to quit fussing over me,” Reade says, a bit of exasperation present in his voice. It really has more to do with her being nervous and him wanting to calm her down than actual annoyance, but he doesn’t know if she’ll take it that way. “I’m okay.”

 

“Hey, macho man,” she says, dropping a decorative pillow on his coffee table, “put your leg up.”

 

Rolling his eyes, he teases, “You would’ve made a hell of a nurse.”

 

She chuckles, and it’s music to his ears. He wishes he could keep her feeling like that, smiling, laughing, but when is it ever that easy?

 

His wayward thoughts, however, are interrupted by her quiet question. “You hungry?”

 

“I can make my own Cup O’ Noodles.”

 

“Okay,” she says and he knows she’s feeling a bit exasperated with him, too. But it doesn’t stop there. “Will you just--” she starts and it reminds him of how cute it is when she’s tripping over her words, but covering it well. “--Relax. Put your leg up, please.”

 

And he can’t help it. Her face coming closer as she gets up in his space, trying to convince him. Her warm hand on his chest. Her smile, her gentle urgings. How much she cares. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning closer. He’s been fighting this for so long, convinced of it ruining their friendship, but he’s tired. He’s tired of running. He’s tired of hiding.

 

He kisses her softly, tenderly, and it feels so good, so meant to be, that he almost pulls back to slap himself upside the head. Since when is he this guy? This sappy guy who looks at his best friend like she hangs all the stars in the sky? And, yet, he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to ruin this moment. He’s glad they never kissed undercover because he doesn’t think this moment would be nearly are gratifying if they had.

 

After what seems like no time at all, he pulls back. He needs to see her face. He’s hoping for something, anything, but all he gets is a blank stare. Her eyes are carefully guarded and suddenly he’s unsure if he’s misread everything up until this point. He can always read her eyes…

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“What’s it look like?” he asks, hurt.

 

“You’re my best friend.” She’s pulling away and he jumps to calm her down. A running Tasha is a scared Tasha.

 

“Exactly.” He tries to lean forward, wincing at how she maintains her distance. “You know me better than anyone else. It--it makes sense, Tasha,” he tries.

 

He watches as she struggles for words. She avoids his gaze, focusing instead on her whirling thoughts. It’s all too much. Finally, she meets his eyes once more. “We’re friends.” She lifts her head, trying to appear more confident than she is. “That’s all.”

 

Tasha watches as his face, usually so good at containing all emotions, betrays his hurt. When he starts to nod and meet her eyes and his lips keep parting in that telltale way, she knows she needs to get out of there, and fast. “I’m gonna go.” She gets up and walks to the door, somewhat in a trance. How did this happen? She shakes her head. There’s too much to process right now.

 

However, her walking away seems to snap him into action. “No, don’t.” He’s quick to block the door, moving faster than she is.

 

“I think it’s best--”

 

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not best. Stop thinking you always know what’s best.”

 

She nearly growls then. “Excuse me, but I know what’s best for me and how I’m feeling.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He leans back against the door. “Talk to me, Tash. What’s going on in your head?”

 

She huffs. “Don’t Tash me.”

 

“You’re my best friend. I think I can call you by your name.”

 

She leans closer, hitting him on the shoulder, hard. “I’m leaving.”

 

“No.” Reade stands firm. “Not until we talk about this.”

 

She looks up at the ceiling, willing her thoughts to clear and her eyes to stay dry. When it looks like she isn’t going to get her wish, she decides on an alternative route. “You’re one to talk,” she scoffs. “When do you ever want to talk?”

 

“Tasha--”

 

“No, but now that you want to talk, I’m forced to?” She crosses her arms over her chest--a defense mechanism if he’s ever seen one--and continues on her rant. “I’m not the one who decided to mess things up.”

 

“Mess things up?” His words sound broken, dejected even, and she wills herself to stay focused. If she can make him angry, he’ll let her leave, and this will all just be a bad dream. They can be friends again, best friends, tomorrow morning. So she simply nods. “Mess things up?” he repeats. He takes a step closer to her, noticing she doesn’t move back. “I didn’t mess up. I want more, Tasha.”

 

She shivers as he says her name for the third time in so many minutes. “Reade--”

 

“No, let me finish.” He’s stern, and she quickly quiets. “I like you, a lot. I wasn’t lying in the hospital earlier. And I wasn’t just saying it as a friend.” He carefully avoids the word that wants to roll off the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t need to freak her out more.

 

“You’re on painkillers,” she justifies. She still doesn’t meet his eyes.

 

He shakes his head, galled at her response. Does she really not know how long he’s cared for her? He gently places his hands on her upper arms, holding them steady as she tries to shake them off.  “This isn’t the painkillers talking.”

 

“You don’t know that.” She doesn’t know why she even gave him that ammo. Where is the fight?

 

“Yes, I do.” He leads her over to the couch, coaxing her to sit down once more. Not knowing what other option she has, she allows it. It’s like the fight flew out of her in a matter of seconds. Sitting down next to her, he continues. “This isn’t something new. I mean, the painkillers might have finally gotten me to make a move,” he jokes as she lightly hits his shoulder. He takes it as the good sign it is. “But,” he picks up, “I’m not trying to kiss you and run.”

 

She takes a shuddering breath before slumping completely, curling into herself. As much as he wants to take her in his arms, to comfort her, he knows she doesn’t want that right now and he can’t force it. “I want you in my life.” Another breath. “Forever.”

 

“And I will be--”

 

“--No you won’t. Not if we don’t stay friends.”

 

“You,” he says, using his nimble fingers to lift up her chin, willing her to meet his eyes, “are my best friend. And you will be always be my best friend.” Her eyes look so worried, so vulnerable, that the words continue to pour out of his mouth without filter. “And you’re not going to just stop being my best friend if we try something more. We’ll probably be even better friends,” he says with a tiny chuckle. “And even if we don’t work out, which I think it highly unlikely,” he adds with a grin, “I’m never going to stop being your friend. Period.”

 

She lets out a breath, much like the breath she let out when he told her he loved her a few days before. “Since when are you such a romantic?” she teases.

  
  
He shrugs. “Hm, I was wrong. We aren’t going to work because it’s always something.” He sighs at her teasing, but the smile on his face shows her he’s joking. She can’t help but laugh with him. He’s right: they won’t stop being friends unless they let it happen and she, for one, is not going to do that.

 

“You can’t run all your life, Tasha,” he says, pulling her from her thoughts. “I know you seem to pride yourself on being single, but I wish you would give it a shot with me.”

 

She takes a wavering breath, leaning her cheek into his palm. She knows he is right. She knows that as much as she tries to tell herself that she’s single by choice and has it down to a science, she doesn’t really want it. She just doesn’t want to get hurt.

 

As if he read her mind, Reade says, “I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” her eyes snap up to meet his at those words, startled at how well he knows her, “because sometimes we hurt the people we care about most. But I’ll try not to. And, if I do, you have permission to kick my ass.” He laughs with her. “Not that you need an invitation.” Her smile only grows.

 

She licks her lips, trying to formulate what she wants to say and how she wants to say it. In the end, all she can manage is a whispered, “I’m scared.”

 

His heart breaks at her confession. She is hardly one to show weakness, yet here she is, letting him in a little at a time. “I know. I’m scared too.” She looks into his eyes again. “But are we really going to live our whole lives scared of what could happen?”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“I mean, we almost die on the job nearly every day.” She pulls away, nodding in exasperation. “I think we can handle a relationship.”

 

She chuckles. “Point taken.” She runs her tongue over her teeth. They sit in silence for another minute, then another, and then another, before she finally looks up at him from under her full lashes. “Can you try that again?”

 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

 

She leans forward, her breath tickling his lips. “Can you try that again, what you did before?”

 

He smiles, leaning up to capture her lips with his. It’s soft and tender and she can’t help but grin against his mouth before he pushes his way in. She allows him to deepen the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Finally letting herself kiss him back and feel all the amazing things she pushed away the first time.

 

In turn, he wraps his arms around her toned waist, loving the connection. Although new, there seems to be a security this time around--he’s not worried about her pulling away anymore.

 

They continue like this, exploring each other’s mouths languidly for several minutes, only coming up for air, grinning when their eyes meet every so often. After a while, Reade moves a little further, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, then over her waist. Her hands grip his biceps tighter when he moves to kiss down her neck, letting out a ragged breath.

 

When their eyes meet again, both breathing heavily, red in the face with undisguised arousal, they lean back from their embrace ever so slightly. They catch their breaths, knowing that they don’t want to move too fast, not yet anyway. “I should head home,” Tasha says when she finally feels like her legs won’t turn to jelly if she tries to stand.

 

He nods. “See you tomorrow?”

 

She grins. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

 

And this time? This time he knows she’s not running. This time, she’s leaving the door open for tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. This time, they are fighting.

 

Because survival is insufficient, as the saying goes. And not trying? Avoiding love and being vulnerable and never taking chances? That’s surviving. But taking that leap? Finding each other? Being open to love? Now that’s living.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't I take a million years? 
> 
> The general timeline for this chapter is episode 2x11.

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks and Reade is 99.9% certain--he can just see Patterson’s cringe and her spiel about accuracy and his lack thereof--that he is going insane. Two weeks holed up in his apartment--why had he thought an open-concept studio apartment was a good idea?--with no access to case information, too many doctor appointments, and absolutely no visits from Tasha to keep him going.

 

He knows it’s not her fault; she mentioned that a new case popped up and it’s left little time for the team to do anything other than work and, if they’re lucky, shove down a snack and grab a cat nap. But he can’t help but shake the feeling that this is all some way to avoid him, to avoid _them_. And whenever that thought pops into his mind, he tries to push it out, to scare it into submission, to remind himself that he’s just worried and that he’s being irrational. After all, he knows their job. He knows that these things happen. Hell, they happen all the time.

 

But that voice, that treacherous voice in the back of his head, won’t give up. It leers and it sneers, making it nearly impossible for him to focus on anything other than the impending fallout. He can’t lose her. And for all his confidence about them staying friends, he’s starting to worry. Scratch that, he’s past the worry and onto the panic. Because, after all, he won’t ever stop being her friend, but was she right? That if things didn’t work out, they’d never be the same. Their friendship would never be the same. And even if it stays the same, how will he handle her leaving him now? Leaving him in this capacity? He’s already laid it all on the line. He’s seen first-hand what her quiet confessions and soft lips can do to him. How can he ever go back?

 

**Zapata 11:02 PM**

 

_Apprehended suspect. Hopefully sleeping tonight…_

 

He lets out a breath, tries to reel himself in. Maybe it will all go back to normal tomorrow...

 

Except it doesn’t. Because their suspect sends them on a wild goose chase that takes another three days to carry out. And, still, there’s more. For once he wishes their cases were less interesting, less challenging. For once couldn’t they have a normal case, open and shut, just to have something on the books?

 

**Zapata 3:56 AM**

 

_I know you’re sleeping but who knows what time I’ll have tomorrow (later???) So just wanted to tell you we may finish tomorrow if Patterson cracks the case because apparently she’s the only one who can (as usual)_

 

**Zapata 3:58 AM**

 

_Did you take your meds?_

 

**Zapata 3:59 AM**

 

_Drinking water?_

 

**Zapata 4:00 AM**

 

_God, I hope your phone’s on silent_

 

He doesn’t see the texts until he wakes at 9 the next morning. He chuckles humorlessly at the fact that he really needed this time to recover because he’s generally a very early riser. Then again, maybe he’s just not sleeping well when he’s spending half the night (and the majority of his days) thinking about where he stands with Tasha.

 

He sends back a quick, _Hope you got some rest_ , trying desperately not to overthink it. Trying not to say too much in a text that may only freak her out.

 

When the team finally closes the case, it’s the night before he’s set to report back to duty. Funny, how the universe works. He’s caught between wanting to scream and wanting to break down in relief that he’ll actually get to see her, talk to her, tomorrow. He knows nothing will happen tonight; the team’s been working nonstop for weeks and needs a proper night’s sleep. He knows, however, that he won’t have the same luxury tonight. Not with everything hanging in the balance.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, he’s up well before his alarm. He showers, eats, and grabs a to-go cup for his coffee. He just needs to get into the office. He needs to see her.

 

Except, she’s not there when he gets in--obviously, because she is not one to come in early when there’s no case to be solved--and all he can do is settle into his chair and type away at his computer. He’s not sure what he’s writing and is pretty sure he’ll have to edit all these reports later, but at least it keeps his hands occupied, keeps people from asking too many questions.

 

He’s gotten to reading (and re-reading) a stack of reports when he hears an upbeat “Hey, welcome back,” come from in front of his desk. He looks up, trying to tamp down his nerves while simultaneously reading her eyes, her body language, her unspoken words. He stands, gearing up to hug her, before pulling back. Was that a flash in her eyes?

 

She stumbles a bit on her words. “Are you...feeling back to normal?” Tasha internally curses her hesitation. Surely, he heard it. That wasn’t in the plan.

 

She breathes a sigh of relief that he chooses to ignore it. “Pretty much. What’d I miss?” He furrows his brows, and she smiles ever so slightly. He does that whenever he feels out of the loop, when he’s trying to stay on track without being derailed.

 

She shrugs, opting for levity. “Not much.” Reade expects her to delve into the case, but instead she takes a completely different turn. “Turns out Borden’s a mole, Jane’s brother’s a prisoner downstairs, and they-uh-they caught that rat in the locker room.” She almost chuckles at the absurdity of it all, the darkness behind it. She almost reaches to smooth out the crease in his shirt. Instead she simply folds her arms across her chest.

 

“They caught my boy, Whitey Bulger?” he jokes. She almost smiles. But something holds her back. He sees it, of course he sees it. It makes his smile drop, too. Maybe he wasn’t being so irrational. Something is wrong.

 

“Tasha, I know--” he starts, a sigh evident in his voice.

 

“--Don’t. It’s fine.” He furrows his brows at her interruption, unsure of her intentions. “Don’t worry.” She looks a little subdued, and he can’t help but be confused. She nods a little at what she misreads as regret.

 

Reade’s about to say more when Jane steps beside them. “Welcome back, Reade,” she says warmly. He gives her a tight smile. Jane then turns to Zapata. “Do you maybe want to check on Patterson? I’m going to see Roman or I would do it--”

 

“--Sure. I was headed that way anyway.” She nods, her eyes a little distant. Almost immediately, Tasha heads off to the lab.

 

“Is she okay?” Jane asks.

 

“I don’t know,” is all Reade manages to reply.

 

* * *

 

“Reade’s back,” Tasha opens with as she walks into the lab. She’s beginning to wish she told someone, anyone, about her and Reade before the craziness of the past few weeks set in. She hadn’t planned to tell them even if work had been slow, at least not until her and Reade had some time to define the relationship for themselves, but now she is coming to regret that decision. Now she feels just as alone as she did before she met the team. After she lost Ricky. After she lost hope for her future. Before she was recruited for the FBI. Before she was friends with Reade. She sees now that for the past few years, he’s the one she confided in for everything. But if this is all falling apart, who can she tell? Patterson is a close second, but not after everything she’s been through. She couldn’t be that selfish.

 

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” Patterson tries to put on a brave face; however, Tasha sees right through it. She lets out a breath and refocuses her attention to Patterson, the one who needs her to be strong right now. The one who needs a friend.

 

“I think the time off did him some good.”

 

“I’m not taking time off,” Patterson is quick to rebuke. Tasha sighs, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. Her and Patterson are a lot alike: refusing to admit weakness, throwing themselves into work when things become too much to handle, it’s part of how they became friends, these commonalities.

 

“Shepherd tortured you, your boyfriend shot you then tried to lethal injection you, I think you’re entitled to a couple of sick days.” Tasha leans her chin on her palm. “You’ve been working on this leopard tattoo for over two weeks. Maybe Sandstorm left it off of Jane’s body because it is a dud.”

 

“Or maybe they realized it left them exposed.”

 

Tasha had no idea how Patterson was speaking so calmly about this after...after everything. “Alright,” Tasha gives in, “you gotten anywhere?”

 

“No,” Patterson says, shaking her head. “Zero progress. I just, I-I have this piercing headache and I can’t seem to think straight.” Zapata nods, thinking of just how accurate that describes her current set of emotions. _Not that I should be experiencing it to the same scale_ , she thinks bitterly, annoyed at her inability to focus on Patterson’s needs.

 

She picks up the pill bottle to get back on track. “Extreme, fast-acting pain relief.”

 

“Yeah, none of those words are accurate.” Patterson grabs the bottle, looking like she’s about to take another.

 

Tasha decides to step in. “Okay, here’s an idea, go home. Seriously.” Maybe if she can help Patterson her brain would stop pounding. Maybe things would be right again. Maybe she could have something other than dread bouncing around the pit of her stomach.

 

Except the beeping of the tattoo database interrupts them and suddenly things are hurtling back into full-gear. Tasha thinks she might be relieved. Either that or just too tired to fight the feelings of unease any longer.

 

* * *

 

The team spends the rest of the day attempting to work with Stepulov and arguing with the CIA. And, while at first, Tasha welcomed the distraction from her own mess of spiraling thoughts, now she just wants the case to be closed. If she has to go another minute of Reade looking at her like the sky is falling, she’s going to break down for everyone to see.

 

When Tasha and Reade finally find the bombs, there’s no time to think. They start disarming them like their lives depend on it--which, unfortunately, they do. Reade wants to laugh at how well they can work together when there is nothing but turmoil between them outside the office. The only problem is that that reminds him of what’s waiting for him when they talk next.

 

* * *

 

It’s not until Tasha joins him in the elevator that he realizes the end is near. The time he’s both anticipated and dreaded has come. They’re alone, and they have barely spoken since the kiss. When the doors close, Tasha turns slightly, keeping her hands tucked in front of her. “Let’s get a drink,” she says quietly, surely. She needs to have a little alcohol in her system for this.

 

Reade feels his heart jump slightly at that. It sounds like she’s planning for something bad. Sure, they get drinks all the time, but if they were staying together wouldn’t they go back to one of their own apartments? “It’s my first day back, I’m tired,” he deflects.

 

“Let’s get a drink,” she repeats.

 

Before he can protest further, the doors of the elevator open and she’s leading the way. She’s winding in and out of people on the street, and he knows she’s headed to the bar a few blocks down that is always pretty packed, but not too crazy. Just good, cheap drinks. And he prepares for the inevitable.

 

When they arrive, she orders a beer and he does the same, reminding himself not to go too crazy with other alcohols when he shouldn’t be drinking while on his pain meds in the first place. But, god, did he wish for something stronger.

 

They sip their drinks in silence for a while, both too afraid to say anything, to break the bubble they so wish could be preserved. “I’m sorry,” Tasha blurts. He looks up, immediately stiffening. “I’m sorry I assumed. I should’ve realized--” he furrows his brows as she continues, building up speed as her nerves take over-- “I should’ve realized you were on painkillers and--”  


“--What?” Reade asks, placing his hand on her arm to stop her rambling. It works. “What are you talking about?”

 

She looks down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I let you go on and on about us being right for each other and letting you kiss me and all that. I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve known it was the painkillers.”

 

His brows pinch as he tries to sift through everything she’s said. She must take his silence for confirmation because he feels her pull away. “No, no, Tasha.” He places his glass down and grabs both her hands, forcing her to stay present. “I’m just confused. I told you it wasn’t the painkillers. That I’ve felt this way a long time.” Still feeling her resistance, he adds, “I care about you, a lot. I have for a long time.”

 

She finally chances a look at his eyes. They seem clearer now. “Then why have you been weird all day? You looked like you were waiting to call it off. And every time I tried to text this week, you seemed off. They sounded stilted. Wrong.”

 

He blows out a breath, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her hands. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you were freaking out and that you might’ve changed your mind and I didn’t want to push you away further. You never came over--”

 

“The case--”

 

“--I know. But I was worried you were running.” She looks down, embarrassed, before he disentangles his hands from hers and tilts her chin up. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

 

“And today?” she asks, trying to put on a brave face. She doesn’t want the rest of the bar to know she has actual human feelings, that she actually cares. That she can be hurt. It’s bad enough her team knows it. Knows she isn’t invincible. Isn’t as tough as she tries to project.

 

Reade rubs his thumb over her cheek, knowing that this is her being vulnerable. “I thought you were acting weird. That you were going to drop the bomb.”

 

She lets out a sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with affection at work, but I just wanted something today, anything, to show me it was okay. That _we_ were okay.” She looks up at the ceiling in an attempt to calm her emotions. “I figured you would be more _we’re dating_ at work.”

 

He shrugs. “I was scared. And I know that’s not you. I wouldn’t push you with everyone around.”

 

She chuckles, finally bringing her eyes back to his. “We really suck at communicating.”

 

“Seriously,” he says. She laughs at his exaggerated eye roll, enjoying seeing him relax for the first time in weeks. “We spent the whole day being idiots.”

 

“Stupid idiots.”

 

“Redundant,” he fakes offense when she shoves his shoulder lightly, “but I have to agree.”

 

She smiles slightly before removing herself from his grasp. That’s enough PDA for now. She is appreciative that he knows her well enough not to be upset.

 

“So, we’re okay?”

 

“Good money,” she says.

 

“That’s my line.”

 

She shrugs, a smirk on her face. “What’s yours is mine now, right?”

 

“First of all, that’s marriage.” She rolls her eyes. “And second,” he drops some cash on the bar, “why don’t I show you just how much I’m willing to share back at my apartment.”

 

She raises her eyebrows at his boldness, unused to this side of her best friend. “We’ve barely touched our drinks.”

 

“We’ve got better things to do.”

 

“Really now?”

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Pajamas, pizza, my team kicking your team’s ass.”

 

She scoffs. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

 

He chuckles. “In your dreams.”

 

He grabs her hand, leading her out the door. And for the first time in weeks, they both know it’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me smile :)


End file.
